Lines Crossed
by xboss.marex
Summary: It started with a kiss.  Faberry.  AU
1. The Beginning of the Beginning

**Author's Note (A/N)**:

Alternate Universe.

Faberry.

Some original characters, some canon characters… I change things to suit the story as I see fit. Personalities may not be completely to canon, but I find the characters are more likeable with my own spin… ;) Plus Quinn I feel like isn't really used as well as she could be, especially since Dianna is a total BAMF.

This story loosely follows the stories of some old flames and I, but feel free to suggest plot ideas! I love reading your opinions about how the story should go! I usually update weekly… Sometimes daily if you play nice and leave me lots of reviews telling me you need an update. I can usually provide as I tend to write 1-2 chapters ahead of what I post!

Constructive criticism welcome as always!

I don't own Glee. Don't sue me, Ryan Murphy!

I also don't have a beta. All grammatical mistakes are mine. Leave a comment if you're interested in becoming a beta for me!

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><p><strong>Lines Crossed<strong>

_Chapter One: "An Anonymous Admirer"_

It all started with a kiss.

The kiss was a chaste one, an unthinking one that was over before it had even begun, and when our lips broke apart, I knew that our lives were forever changed by a single kiss that lasted no longer than a second.

The ridiculousness of such a statement was and still is not lost upon me.

How can such a short kiss change a life?

If you were the one to feel the brush of her lips, to feel how her hand fell just to the right of the small of your back, caressing the rise of your hip and then tightening to pull you closer, deeper.

And those moments, those moments leading up to the kiss! You're so close to her, and she's close to you, and you can't move apart for the sake of having the very breath ripped from your body. You're looking at her lips, then her eyes, her beautiful eyes—eyes of a thousand colors—and she is looking back at you through them, and her soul glimmers just below those myriad of hues. You could fall upon her, but you don't for fear of losing her, losing that moment…

Jesus, it was so much more than just a kiss.

I suppose, to properly tell the whole story, I should start before the kiss—before everything changed irrevocably.

Before she became everything I thought about, everything I longed for, and everything I knew I could never have.

* * *

><p>I usually skipped fourth period, mostly because it was gym and I hated doing anything remotely athletic. Plus being the size of a twelve year old at five foot two does not bode well in sports, especially since the current unit was Dodgeball.<p>

I possessed one talent and that was my voice. I sang better than anyone else in William McKinley High and that was a (mostly) undisputed fact among the student body.

However, my powerful voice would not save me now.

As I stood there, on the very edge of the basketball court, trying desperately to be the best sitting duck I could, I hoped would be struck somewhere in a lower, less-painful region so I could rejoin the ranks of the losers on the outskirts.

When a large red ball made contact against the moisturized skin of my face, I realized how much I hated going to school here at McKinley. The sting and the loud smacking sound faded quickly, but the humiliation of twenty plus students staring, pointing and laughing at me did not.

"That feel good, Hobbit?" Santana Lopez taunted, McKinley's high resident Queen of Mean and my personal tormentor. She raised her well-muscled arms, kissing each of her biceps, and then began to aggressively scan the line of terrified students for her next victim. She reminded me of some sort of animalistic predator, intent on bringing pain to those smaller and weaker than her.

I hurried to the fringes of my team's side, reversed and slid down against the wall, trying to fade into the background as much as possible. I drew my knees up and rested my chin on top of them, wrapping my arms around myself and squeezing as tight as I possibly could. Maybe I could implode, disappear with a _whoosh_ inside myself and never be seen again.

"It'll be all right, Rachel," A voice drew my attention outward, and I looked to my right—looked to my best friend and fellow social outcast, Kurt Hummel.

Kurt was even more uncool than I because he was gay. Well, more than just gay, he channeled the essence of Elizabeth Taylor and Madonna both in fashion sense and in dramatic flair. Right now he was forced to wear our school's gym uniform, a bland mix of red cotton shorts and heather gray t-shirts, but his unique style was boldly proclaimed by his shiny lip-gloss (man-gloss, he called it) and equally flamboyant silvery glitter eye-shadow.

"They'll find a new target within seconds," he was trying to make me feel better, and I smiled gratefully up at him. It was good to have a friend like him. Without Kurt, I would be lost in a sea of loneliness—without Kurt, I wouldn't have a single friend in the world.

"They always do," I agreed with him. "I'm just glad I'm out now and you can tell me where exactly you bought that awesome shade of eye-shadow."

Before Kurt could respond, something that looked like a blurred missile struck him square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him and subsequently muting any reply he was about to make.

I looked up quickly, seeing David Karofsky, another stupid football playing bully, doubled over and laughing hysterically. Turning back to Kurt, I could see he was doubled over as well, but instead Kurt was choking and wheezing little huffs and puffs of pure agony.

I reached out to Kurt, trying to envelop him in my arms and keep him from the eventual impending realization of his own humiliation but he pushed me back gently. I knew he felt the need to stand, to run, and to leave all this cruel torment behind him. I knew because I shared his feelings, shared his burdens, and shared his pain.

"That's what you get, Faggot," Karofsky yelled in our direction, "BOOM!" He mimicked the wind-up toss he had used to throw the ball at Kurt, and then brought his fist upward in an arrogant display of victory. "Making little Fags cry since the day I was born," he called to his fellow chortling football buddies.

I bit my tongue. It was useless to retort back to them, I would only anger them further and there would be worse things done to both Kurt and I on another day.

Coach Beiste, the new gym teacher, having seen the whole incident, ran over quickly to where we were sitting and dismissed us from the gym before ordering Karofsky to run one hundred laps. I didn't stick around to watch his resulting temper-tantrum; instead I helped Kurt to his feet so we could try to escape without further public humiliation or pain.

As Kurt and I hustled from the gym, I kept my eyes on the waxed wooden floor until we reached the safety of the outside hallway, where we could collapse against the lockers and relish our moment of safety. "One day," I heard myself say as I let my head fall back to rest against the metal of a random student's locker, "We will break free of this place, escape to New York, and become huge stars on Broadway. "

Kurt didn't reply. I turned to look at him and saw he had his eyes closed; one single tear glistened against the paleness of his cheek before it fell and stained a tiny dark circle on his rubicund shorts. I reached out, and wiped away the next tear glittering by his right eye before it could fall with the pad of my thumb. I let my hand plummet to his chin where I gently turned his head so when he did finally open his eyes, we were interlocked in a stare.

"Say it Kurt," I demanded, "Please."

He nodded once, and I lowered my hand before he caught my wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yes," he agreed, "We're going to break free and we'll never look back to Lima, Ohio."

_We'll never look back…_

* * *

><p>That night, in my room, I opened up my Tumblr account so I could reblog yet another picture of my personal hero, Barbra Streisand. There was a tiny red mark indicating I had a message waiting on me from a fellow Tumblr-addict, or perhaps even from an Anonymous user. Most students at McKinley High had never heard of Tumblr, so I felt no fear of it being another taunting message like the usual ones I received on Facebook or Myspace.<p>

It was probably just Kurt again, sending me more pictures of Ryan Gosling and Zac Efron with captions like 'MINE BITCH!' or 'My future husband doing future husband-like things!' written under every single one.

As I clicked on the mark, opened up my inbox and proceeded to be astonished by what I found there.

_You don't know me… But I know you. We go to the same school and although we haven't spoken much, I think you're really pretty and I felt the need to tell you so. I'm a little shy and I'm pretty sure I'm not your type, but everyone deserves to be told they're beautiful. . . Especially if they are as beautiful as you are, Rachel Berry._

_Anonymous Admirer_

I stared at the block of text for a long moment, before hastily writing underneath in response:

**Thank you. Just thank you. And if you were able to write something as sweet as that, you are definitely my type. Come off Anon, please?**

I clicked 'post' before I could stop myself and anxiously began refreshing my Dashboard, hoping to see that delicious red mark again. After about thirty minutes, I gave up and began my usual routine of preparing for sleep—a process that would take at least an hour or longer if one of my two dads decided to interrupt.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, I sat back down in front of my Macbook Pro again, hoping to find a message waiting on me from my sweet anonymous admirer. A little stab of excitement resounded through me when I saw that in fact I did have one new message waiting on me.

_I can't. For a variety of reasons, but the best being I'm not ready yet. Can I ask you a question? A serious one, I promise. I'll ask it here and if you don't feel comfortable answering, you don't have to. How do you feel about gay relationships?_

_Anonymous Admirer_

How did I feel about gay relationships? I had two gay Dads for Streisand's sake! Not to mention the fact that my best (and only) friend in the world was incredibly gay. Like that famous line in Mean Girls, Kurt was almost too gay to function and I loved him all the more for it.

Of course I was accepting of the gays! Hell, buy me the Legalize Gay t-shirt and I would proudly wear it to school weekly! Fag-hag? You betcha!

This person clearly didn't know me very well at all. . . Which didn't really narrow down the options of who it could be, since that left everyone in McKinley except for Kurt.

**My best friend Kurt is gay, and I was raised by two Dads. I would say I'm pretty accepting of everything gay. Are you gay…?**

With a click, it appeared on my page, and I began to refresh over and over again. Then, suddenly, it hit me—if my Anon was gay, and interested in me, that would make the Anon of the feminine gender.

I never really considered the idea of dating a girl, but to be fair, I never really considered dating anyone at all. I never felt attracted to anyone in particular. Kurt was the one who talked obsessively about boys, I always listened and gave my opinion on important dilemmas like Jacob vs. Edward, but for the most part, I was much more focused on my career than men.

Now, with the idea of a girl liking me placed in my head, I tried to figure out if I liked girls… well, _like that_. I always liked that Katy Perry song, but I also liked that other song It's Raining Men—did that make me gayer or straighter?

There was no answer. I had never tried to be with anyone and certainly never actually kissed or even hugged anyone except Kurt (which didn't count because he was like the Lady GaGa version of a Teddy Bear to me), so I couldn't even begin to come to a fair answer.

While I was internally debating with myself, I didn't see the red indicator of a new message until almost ten minutes later. I clicked on it and read eagerly.

_I don't know. I think so. I – I felt something when I saw you sing last week. I wanted to kiss you. Is that weird? I think it is, to tell a complete stranger you wanted to kiss them. When you were singing, I felt like I knew you. Now that's definitely strange, I know, but it's true. I felt like you were singing to me. I wish you would sing to me. I think I'd really like that. I hope someday to talk to you in person, just to have your attention for a second, but until then, I hope you have a wonderful night. Sweet dreams._

_Anonymous Admirer_

I couldn't stop myself. I furiously wrote back without even re-reading the words I typed.

**Don't go, Anon. I don't think it's weird. Singing is supposed to encourage emotional response from an audience, and it makes me happy to know my voice did that for you. You should talk to me in person. Maybe I would want to kiss you too if I knew you. I've never wanted to kiss anyone before. You have all of my attention now. More than anyone else ever has… If you don't respond to this, well, goodnight to you too.**

Leaning back, I stared at my Dashboard for a long second, realizing that my Anonymous Admirer wasn't going to write back tonight, maybe not ever.

But my heart was lifted somehow. Someone, somewhere out there, thought I was beautiful and had wanted to kiss me. Me! My whole life I considered myself ugly and awkward and just _un-kissable_ as possible, and here was a total stranger admitting she had fantasies about doing the very thing I always doubted!

I stood up and walked to my bed, falling quickly into soft Egyptian cotton sheets and mounds of feather pillows. I grabbed my childhood stuffed animal, a pink colored unicorn I named Star, and clutched her tightly to my chest. "Someone thinks I'm beautiful," I beamed reaching out to turn off the light before snuggling Star tightly.

I decided not to worry about my Anonymous Admirer's gender.

Not yet.

* * *

><p>"That's so romantic," Kurt purred as I rehashed the evening's happening to him during lunch the next day. "She sounds like a regular Princess Charming. I never really imagined you as having a gay relationship, Berry, but suddenly I can see it. I mean you always wear that atrocious plaid lumberjack shirt at least once a month. And those horrible boots you bought when we went to Marshall's last year, talk about a bad fashion decision!"<p>

I drew myself indignantly. "I'll have you know that is a very en vogue pair of Kate Spade boots, and plaid button downs are very chic for the high school student!"

"Where did you read that, After Ellen?"

"Huh?" I furrowed my brows, "What's After Ellen?"

Kurt laughed and touched my hand lightly, "You have so much to learn, young lesbo."

"I'm not a lesbo! At least, I don't think I am… Can we not label this? I don't even know her name or what she looks like—"

"You just know she goes to McKinley and has a big fat lesbian crush on you. She's in lesbians with you, BerryBoop!" Kurt sang the last part in a sing-song before placing his hands on hips with an annunciated flourish.

"The only gay one I'm seeing at this table is you," I retorted before stealing his pudding cup. I ignored his reproachful look and peeled back the plastic covering so I could lick the vanilla goodness off the top. Kurt watched me for a long moment, before he rested his chin in his hand and gave me a long, knowing look. "What?" I asked, licking the inside of the carton now, enjoying the way the cream melted in my mouth.

"Oh yeah," he grinned, "I'm the only gay one here…"

I put down the pudding cup immediately, flushing. "You are ridiculous."

The bell rang, signaling we needed to hurry back to the second period. They only gave us five minutes to get to and from classes. My class, AP Biology, was all the way at the other side of the school so I needed to really get a move on. I said my goodbyes to Kurt and waved as he headed off in the opposite direction, slinging his large and rhinestone-infested messenger bag like a battering ram to clear his way.

As I walked, I could feel someone's eyes on me. I looked up, usually I liked to look at my feet when I traveled down the hallway—it was a great defense against slushies—but there was something about the eyes that were drilling holes into my forehead that made me want to look up. My gaze searched the crowded hallway, but my senses could not tell me exactly where the stare was coming from, and so as I prepared to let my gaze fall back down to the ground again, I was startled to feel someone grab my wrist.

The grip on my arm was firm and it spun me round like we were two dancers executing a specific move. With a jolt, once my feet stopped twirling, I found myself face to face with the one and only Santana Lopez.

I stammered something intelligible before I noticed the giant Styrofoam cup in her right hand. "Oh no," was all I could manage before she raised it above my head and tilted it downward. I gasped as I was doused in freezing cold purple liquid. It dripped down my face, down my shirt and into my bra before collecting in an icy pool at my feet.

Santana's laughter was all I heard as I ran for the nearest bathroom, the sugary wetness spread across my body already beginning to get incredibly sticky.

* * *

><p>The bathroom was devoid of others, and once the door was shut behind me I felt safe enough to let the shaking sobs burst forth from my lips. I ran to the sink, turning on the water so I could wash myself clean of my public humiliation.<p>

There were so many thoughts racing through my mind. Thoughts that claimed I was ugly, thoughts that screamed I deserved this, and thoughts that whispered I deserved such horrible actions because maybe I had been evil in a past life… Or maybe these girls could look inside my soul and see something evil that I couldn't see.

But one was different from the usual negativity. One thought said: _I think you're beautiful, and I want to kiss you_. My secret anonymous admirer, a life-raft in a swirling sea of horrible emotion, reached out to me and I clung desperately onto her, even if she was only a good albeit brief memory.

The door opened but I didn't hear the squeak of the hinges, I was too busy clutching onto the porcelain base of the sink, too busy lost in my thoughts, wondering who she was… Where she was…

"Rachel, right?"

I looked up and saw the most beautiful girl in the entire school standing before me. Locks of short blonde hair framed her face, and her lips were full and round and pursed in a worried sort of way, and the way she looked at me was strange… Not intimidating in the sense that I thought she might hurt me, but that she might reach out and touch me and I didn't know if I could handle such a thing.

"Yeah," I replied, backing away. "You're Quinn Fabray."

She nodded.

I retreated until I ran out of space, my spine making contact with the coolness of the rough cinderblock wall.

Quinn was best friends with Santana, and therefore I expected Santana to walk in at any moment. My eyes drifted to the door and Quinn looked behind her before realization dawned slowly upon her face.

"Oh, she's not – I mean, Santana's not coming." I stiffened at the mention of Santana, refusing to relax despite Quinn's attempt to soothe me. "I came because I…" Quinn trailed off, unsure suddenly. "I don't know actually. It was mean what she did. She can be _so_ mean." The last part was said mostly to herself, I thought, as she lowered her head shamefully and played with the ends of her lace cardigan.

I noticed she wasn't wearing her Cheerios uniform. Normally she was always wearing that stupid polyester outfit, but today she was dressed like America's Sweetheart. She wore a soft white lace cardigan over a gorgeous baby-doll yellow shirt, while light-wash American Eagle jeans hugged her hips in all the right places, and she wore a pair of brown leather gladiator sandals on her feet. A small golden cross hung from her neck, and it reminded me of random facts about her.

She was president of the Celibacy Club.

She sang "This Little Light of Mine" once in a school assembly and it was surprisingly really good. I remember she held a candle that couldn't even begin to shine as brightly as her golden hair.

One time in my sophomore year, she bent down suddenly to help me retrieve my books when a gaggle of Cheerios knocked them from my hands while telling me to shuffle back to the Shire. I remembered when she leaned forward to give me my Geology textbook, she smelled like warm vanilla sugar.

She was absolutely beautiful. And suddenly, it struck me, that she was compassionate.

"It's okay," the ridiculousness of my words echoed back to me after each syllable, but it didn't stop me from saying them anyway, "I'm not mad at Santana. I know she only does it because if she didn't do it to me, then someone would do it to her."

_Survival of the fittest and all... _

"It's more than that," Quinn said softly, touching the cross around her neck absentmindedly, and I decided that must be what she did whenever she was lost in thought. "She's jealous of your voice, I think. She would never admit it, but we've talked about how you sing and…"

Quinn Fabray! The most popular girl in school openly admitting she held conversations about me with her fellow royal McKinley High court-members? I couldn't _believe_ it! I stood there, slack-jawed, and stupidly mute.

"Well, anyway, I just think she's envious. We—_I_ don't hate you or anything. You have a good voice." Quinn said with a smile. The slight curving of her lips made me realize further just how pretty she was.

I studied her, like it was for the first time, even though we had gone to the same high school for three years and interacted sporadically.

Her eyes were hazel, but more green than anything else. Those eyes were the color of the sea when the sun hits it just so, dark deep emerald with hints of tawny yellow. I found myself staring into them longer than what was probably polite, so I flushed and looked away, back to my feet again, studying the way my toes peeped out from their secure home of ballet flats.

"Thank you," I murmured softly. "For what you said about my voice, I mean. Some days I think it's all I have." The admission left my lips effortlessly, and I felt myself flush deeper.

Who was I to confess so much to Quinn Fabray? Who was I to assume that she even _cared_ about my pathetic life?

"You always look at the ground." Quinn susurrated back, almost pensive sounding, and I got the same feeling I had when I was walking down the hall. I looked up sharply, and I found those hazel eyes looking at me with curiosity and something more… _Something so much more_.

"What?" I asked, a little stunned by her words. She said them so softly, I had barely heard her, but it was more the look in her eyes that made me feel absolutely breathless.

"N-nothing, nothing. I need to go. I hope you're okay. Really, I—" She took two steps toward me, her hands clenched at her sides like she were afraid she might reach out and touch me.

Like she didn't trust herself _not_ to touch me.

Our eyes locked together for a second more and then she broke the contact, looking down, and whispering a final line.

"I do." And with that, she turned and left.

She left me there, a thousand questions running through my mind, a thousand thoughts… I shook myself slightly, heading back to the sink so I clean up and head to AP Bio. I needed to talk to Kurt. He would know what the hell just happened.

* * *

><p>"It's simple," Kurt concluded after I told him what happened after school. "She's in lesbians with you."<p>

"Quinn Fabray?" I raised my eyebrows and sat up from where we were sprawled out on my bed. "She's dating Finn Hudson and has been since… oh, forever? I don't really think that points to her being a lesbian."

"Wanda Sykes was married to a man for six years," Kurt said pointedly.

"Who's Wanda Sykes?" I asked absentmindedly. "Is she a singing lesbian?"

Kurt smacked his palm to his forehead in disgust. "Rachel," he sighed, "If you are going to be a gay lady you at the very least need to know who Wanda Sykes is!"

"I can google her! What's her best song?"

He shook his head repeatedly, before standing up to go to my computer. "It's time for a serious gay education. First we will look at Hannah Harto, because if there's any gay in there, she will bring it out and then we'll move on to Jenna Anne because, dear god, I'm even lesbicurious for her."

"Kurt you can't be lesbicurious! You would technically be straight or transgender, which actually might make a lot of sense—"

Kurt waved his hand dismissively, "Semantics, BerryBoop! Youtube is teeming with lesbians; we should post a video of you singing and I'm sure—"

"Wait," I interrupted him, "Can we check my Tumblr first?"

He rolled his glitter-donned eyes but obliged me. When I saw the red notification of a new message, I shoved him roughly out of the way.

_Reaching out to touch you is like trying to touch a star. I know I'll never reach you, but it doesn't stop me from trying. _

_I read that somewhere, it made me think of you… I want to talk to you. Would you consider writing to me? If so, here's my email: . Tell me, what's your favorite song? Your favorite place? What do you think about when you look down?_

_Anonymous Admirer_

"Whoa," I heard Kurt say.

"Yeah," I echoed back.

We sat there in silence for a long time before Kurt clicked on the email application at the bottom of my screen.

I looked at him, my eyes full of confusion, "Do you really think I should write her? She's some anonymous stranger… What if it's some kind of cruel joke?"

He smiled at me, and his eyes were incredibly kind. Kurt always possessed such kind eyes. No matter how mean the world was to him, he was still… Kurt. Sweet, adorable, funny and my best friend, and I longed to tell him how much I loved him in that moment, but it was senseless. He already knew.

"You'll never know for sure. But do you think it's worth the risk?"

The question hung in the air unanswered.

I looked back at the screen. I frowned. _Was it?_

* * *

><p><strong>(AN:)**

What do you guys think? Should Miss Berry write back? Is Quinn her Anonymous Admirer? Kurt needs a sexy boo to lust after… Should I bring Blaine in or someone entirely different? I think we need another girl to make the Anonymous Admirer jealous so maybe she'll make herself known to Rachel, eh?

Leave your thoughts before you click that back button!

Until next time loves,


	2. The Bewildered Kiss

**A/N:** Glee? Nope, I don't own it!

Now before you read, remember this is a Faberry fanfic. But I delight in torturing my hardcore shippers in every story I write, so be prepared for a long wait before you get your much anticipated Faberry make out session.

Warning! Some Rachel/Canon Character that is decidedly NOT Quinn Fabray action may be lurking in this chapter and in a few more to go. Try not to go blind from the horror. They will not stay together, or probably actually "date" in the first place. Never fear for the Faberry will eventually be here!

* * *

><p>I waited three days to write back to my Anonymous Admirer.<p>

I don't know why I waited.

Fear of the unknown, maybe?

Or maybe it was something else entirely. The thought of finding out her true identity terrified me.

What if I didn't like her? What if I wasn't attracted to her? What if we had absolutely nothing in common?

On the other hand, what if I _did_ like her? What if I _was_ attracted to her? What would I do then?

Find her? Kiss her? _Girlfriend_ her?

Those options seemed even more frightening than the ones before. I didn't know the first thing about being a girlfriend, or kissing anyone for that matter.

And then again, w_hat if she was some creepy old dude stalking me from his mother's basement?_

I shuddered at the thought. I decided she wasn't a creepy old guy. She couldn't be. She'd heard of Tumblr after all.

These swirling unnumbered thoughts halted my fingers each time I attempted to place them upon the keyboard. The unknown was so vast and frightening; I just couldn't bring myself to cross the barrier into the blackness of the indefinite.

If it weren't for Santana Lopez and our encounter in my workplace parking lot, I would have probably never written back to my Anonymous Admirer at all.

* * *

><p>Santana came into the restaurant where I work as a waitress on a Thursday. Her usual entourage of football jocks and Cheerios accompanied her like groupies trailing after a Pop Star.<p>

The Hive, a hole in the wall burger joint, was the place to be for a McKinley high school student and the place to work as well. My dad Leroy pulled a couple of strings with a manager friend, which ended up landing me a pretty steady job as a waitress at The Hive, so I could save up some college money. I liked it for the most part, except when certain people came in to eat and I was subjected to worst parts of waitressing.

I saw Santana first as I hustled out of the kitchen, balancing two trays precariously on both my arms for the table of eight I was currently serving, and I instantly steeled myself for the barrage of taunts she would release upon detecting me.

Maybe if I could remain expressionless and unmoved for her usual diatribe, she would find me boring and move on to torture another poor soul.

Fortunately for me, at just the right moment, a football player I didn't recognize grasped her sleeve and playfully pulled her into an embrace. As she struggled to free herself, I was able to breeze past them and deliver my enormous cargo to its waiting recipients without incident.

After passing each person their individual plate, I took last minute requests for ketch-up and soda refills before running the gauntlet again. This time I wasn't so lucky.

"Hey Treasure Trail," sneered Santana, "Why don't you get somebody to seat my friends and I before I use you as a Swiffer."

Her group of friends cracked up at her mockery.

"S-Sure," I stuttered, "I'll just grab some menus and—"

At just the right moment our assistant manager, a woman I quite liked named Donna, came to my rescue. "Why don't you guys follow me," she smiled sweetly, "and I'll seat you somewhere in the back."

A pang of relief went through me; Donna purposefully spared me from further engagement with Santana and her jeering audience of jocks. My sections were along the front windows on either side of the entrance, so I would be safe from Santana's favorite game of ordering ten thousand things and sending them all back while blabbering about my incompetence.

As they filed past me, I recognized almost none of the group, until I saw Finn Hudson (you couldn't really miss him since he stood well over six foot tall) leading along a frowning Quinn Fabray.

She was dressed like the rest of the popular girls, clad in a red polyester Cheerios uniform and trim white sneakers. All the boys wore red and cream Letterman jackets over blandly similar outfits that reeked of Hollister and Abercrombie and Fitch.

I couldn't help but notice how Finn held her hand like a leash, and how she followed behind him like a lagging dog.

Her body language was incredibly strained, and she leaned backward as if she did not want to be associated with Finn's hand-holding business. Her hand was as limp as a dead fish in his, and I could see her visibly grimace every time he attempted to tighten his grip. I wondered briefly if his hand was as cold and clammy as it looked before I let my eyes travel upward to her face.

The stormy expression in her eyes couldn't be more different than the gentle expression she trained on me that day we spoke in the bathroom.

As he tugged her along past me, she felt the weight of my gaze and turned to look in my direction. Our eyes locked, and the squall inside her hazel depths receded for just a split second and I saw genuine confusion.

_What are __you__ doing here, Rachel?_

She didn't speak aloud, but I heard her question nonetheless. I glanced down at my khaki colored apron embossed with the logo of the Hive: a burger seated under the shelter of a red and white umbrella, and raised my waitress pad slightly in response. Somewhere deep inside me, I wondered how she could not have noticed me before. After all, I had served her usual group countless times. Maybe I really was that insignificant, or at least to the likes of Quinn Fabray anyway.

She nodded; the gesture was one of acceptance. _Oh, you work here. Okay_.

She had long since disappeared into the dusky darkness of The Hive before I started moving again. I headed to the kitchen, remembering my ticket of eight and how they were waiting on refills and condiments, before I bumped directly into another server, Holly.

"Please Rachel," she grasped my entire arm, clinging to me like a frightened animal, "don't make me serve them. Please!"

I blinked at her, uncertain of exactly what she was talking about, and then it hit me like an icy dousing of water. _Santana._ Poor Holly, she was even less confident than I, and Santana would surely eat her alive.

"I'll take all your tables." Holly continued. "Last time I waited on them, Santana forced me to sing her the menu and afterward she told me I sounded like a cat being strangled. She got everyone at school to meow at me for weeks afterward." Holly's eyes were darting left and right in pure terror at the memory. She tightened her grip on my arm once more, cutting off all circulation, before wilting sideways like a dying flower.

"It's okay, Holly," I heard myself say, "I'll take the Hell Bitch's table. Just manage that ticket of eight for me, okay?"

As I ran down the list of what needed to be done for my former customers, I inwardly groaned.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

* * *

><p>"And I'll have a basket of fries," Santana was the last to order, and we locked eyes as soon as I looked up from the hasty scribbles I made on my ordering pad.<p>

I made a point to never meet Santana in a stare, but here I was holding on like I was strong enough to do it forever. I wanted desperately to break free of the weight of her gaze, but I could not resist the command of her blistering coffee colored eyes. They were laced with amethyst veins, the thin fibrous strands reminded me unexpectedly of purple venom, like something a Cobra would release once its jaws snapped shut around a vulnerable prey.

"What's a matter, Gollum?"

She licked her full and suddenly sensuous lips, "You've been staring at me longer than thirty seconds. Must be a record or something, maybe I should beat your ass so you remember why you don't look at me in the first place."

I dropped her gaze like it had turned into fire itself and mumbled something intangible. Something like, "S-Sorry."

"Just go get my fries, Papa Smurf, before I get bored and really do put my foot in your ass. Probably would come out shrunken or something. I heard that Little People disease is contagious."

I excused myself with a fleeing exit for the kitchen. Maybe there I could find respite by passing off the table to Donna or someone else out of high school and free of Santana's ire.

I rattled off the order to our chef Mark before hustling back out to take care of my other tables. If anything could distract me from the threat of Santana Lopez, it was the act of scribbling down orders, bringing refills and platters of food, and collecting discarded dishes and plastic cups. Too soon I heard Mark call out "Order Up!" and I knew exactly whose order it was.

I made my way to the kitchens and shouldered the burden of more than fifteen pounds of food, balanced perilously on a single platter. It was one of the many underappreciated talents of waitressing, the ability to balance and carry such amazing amounts of food with graceful ease.

Burgers, fries, hotdogs and chicken fingers were what the McKinley High elite craved today and I was their whipped delivery girl. Lucky me.

As I made my way toward the table seating Quinn and Santana and the rest of their motley crew, I should have known there would be some awful prank or trick waiting on me. I should have been more careful, more observant—_more suspicious_. I didn't even see the football henchman coming until his shoulder collided into my arm, the sole prop holding up a salver of seven or so plates of steaming hot food.

That single act alone sent the tray careening upward and then falling backward all over me.

It seemed to happen almost in slow motion. One second I was walking the plank of death toward Santana's table, and the next I was drenched in a spray of burger buns and patties, ketch-up, mayo, and other various condiments, not to mention the burning grease that seared my skin and left hot angry red marks for hours afterward.

I didn't hear the erupting of laughter that no doubt exploded at my plight, because I was too busy springing round and running toward the Waitress Lounge, too busy trying to escape this living nightmare.

I was almost home free before someone caught up to me. Even though their steps were as light and as agile as a doe's might be, my raised and hypersensitive senses warned me of her presence far before she grabbed my wrist and whirled me round.

I was reminded of the last time that had happened, when Santana Lopez had dumped an entire gallon of purple slush across my forehead.

This time I would not go so willingly. I would not go back to her torture like an injudicious lamb to the slaughter.

Oh no, this time I fought like a cornered cat, hissing and spitting and scratching blindly for bits of onions stung my eyes and the scent of mustard burnt like fire in my nostrils.

"Calm down, Rachel! I want to help you, okay?" The voice was calm, and kind despite the situation. 

_A friend_.

I recognized the owner instantly. _Quinn Fabray_. She must have sprang from her chair before the football player knocked into me purposefully. She must have seen what was going to happen and attempted to stop it.

The realization of that angered me far more than it probably should have, although I still couldn't tell you why, and I fought harder to be released from her grasp.

"I don't want your help!" I snapped and broke free of her grip at last, doing a one-eighty before careening into a passing customer like a rogue bumper-car.

It was only when I heard the secure sound of the _Employees Only_ door behind me that I felt safe enough to slow my motions. I could hear Donna rush in behind me, hear her soothing words and gentle assurance, but I could not submit to them.

"I'm going home." I said so firmly, so abruptly, that I expected Donna to argue. She didn't. Only agreed and offered more cajoling clichés as I changed from my soiled uniform into a much cleaner set of spare clothes I kept in my cubby.

The plain chocolate brown V-neck shirt felt soft and comforting against my skin, and paired with my favorite pair of jeans, it was like slipping into the embrace of a friend. I put back on my golden star necklace as I stepped back into my comfortable pair of Sperry's Topsiders.

I brushed aside Donna with as much politeness as I could muster given the situation, and made my way for the employee bathroom.

Although the employee bathroom was a bit of a joke, I was suddenly glad for the privacy of the single stall and its solitary sink. Here I could wash away the evidence of the attack, and here I could cry without having to worry about Quinn Fabray barging in again. That was the very last thing I thought I needed.

I glanced in the mirror, even though the soap and water I had vigorously applied washed away all suggestion of the treachery of my peers, I still felt the invisible splatter of it all. Piled heavily on top of my skin like an inscription I could never erase, no matter how hard I scrubbed. When I had re-applied what little make up I wore, and managed to make my hair obey a somewhat neat low pony-tail, I decided it was far past time to go home.

I exited the Hive from an employee only entrance located at the back of the building. There my car would be parked among all the others belonging to people who worked there, and I hurried in the direction of my small silver SUV. I'd been so surprised to see that Ford Escape on my sixteenth birthday. "Nice and practical," my dad Hiram had said with a beaming grin as he handed me the keys.

I started shuffling things about in my purse, searching for my keys to unlock the driver's side door, when someone stepped out from the shadows.

She was the last person I wanted to see in the entire world. And the very last person I expected.

There came Santana.

She sauntered forward with an easy and confident air. Circling around the back of my car, she leaned against the strong mass of my driver's side door, barring me with obvious intent from my only means of escaping. A smile touched her lips for a split second as she saw my rising terror at the predicament I found myself in, and she gracefully straightened up and away from her former position, coming toward me like a cat toying with a mouse.

I found her beautiful and haunting, as every small creature must find the hunter closing in upon them, my heart was beating so fast I was sure it would explode. That happened, didn't it? The poor vulnerable target dying of fright before the predator's jaws could even close upon them.

"Hello Rachel," she purred as she closed the distance between us to only a few yards or so. "I thought I'd never be able to catch you alone. Sorry about the spectacle inside. I know you probably won't believe me, but it _really_ wasn't my idea." Her voice dropped an octave on the last sentence, as if this oily coating would help the bullshit go down easier.

It didn't.

"You called me Rachel," I was stunned to hear myself say, this wave of bravado would be short lived, but I clung to it desperately. I raised my eyes from the bumps of her knees to the endlessly smooth and tanned skin of her thighs before resting them lightly on the hem of her Cheerios uniform.

I halted them there, unsure that I could really bring them all the way up to meet her own set of amethyst tainted eyes. Surely this would be like looking into the eyes of Kaa, and I would either be hypnotized or immune.

I decided to take my chances. My eyes jumped upward and met those of Santana's with all the strength I could muster, "You called me Rachel." I said again more firmly.

I saw a spattering of surprise high-lighted in her ocher depths before she blinked that away and only steely determined emptiness remained.

"So?" She said, her shoulders rising in a 'what of it' sort of way.

"You've never called me by my name. Not once."

The implication of my words hung between us. She took three or more steps toward me, as if something was driving her onward, something that not even she could control.

The idea of something being beyond the control of Santana Lopez seemed almost laughable to me.

I let my gaze fall to her lips. They were freshly glossed and bright pink, like the bubble gum I used to chew as a child. I'd long since forgotten the name but it came coiled like a rope in a small plastic canister. Her lips were the exact same hue. Barbie Pink, I concluded.

I wondered for a second what it would feel like to kiss her. For the first time in my life, I wondered what it would feel like to kiss somebody. Would I taste the gloss of her lipstick? Would her lips, so plump and incredibly inviting, glide over my own without any resistance?

As if hearing my thoughts, Santana closed the distance between us and came alarmingly near to me. She didn't bother to respond to anything I said before. Her thoughts were elsewhere. I looked to her eyes again, trying to find kindness in them. I saw kindness all the time—in Kurt, in my parents, and most recently in… in Quinn. Quinn had the kindest set of eyes of them all.

Santana had forced blankness into her eyes. Maybe she could have had kind eyes beneath that emotionless mask, but she was completely unwilling to let them shine. Her dead eyes frightened me a little, but I had a minute amount of time to reflect on this.

While I was lost in my thoughts, Santana was whittling away the last few inches between us. She was now so close that I could feel the soft puff of her exhale. Her breath smelled like cinnamon.

The only people who had ever ventured into this much closeness with me had been my parents and Kurt, but those moments always ended in family-like hugs.

This moment didn't feel like those. My reactions to the nearness of Santana and to the nearness Kurt were polar opposites.

My heart didn't immediately speed up faster when Kurt wrapped his arms around me, and sweat never immediately sprung up from my palms like a traitorous flag whenever he reached for my hand.

Santana hadn't even touched me, and already I thought I might pass out from the close proximity of her. She smelled exotic. I don't know how else to describe it, but it was thick and sexy and dizzying. I should have probably run from the mere scent of her, but instead I stood there like a terrified lump.

I was petrified. I didn't think Santana cared or noticed.

Her hand touched my face and it broke something inside me. Something careened downward like a rogue wave in my belly and I don't know if it was from fear or – or from something else entirely.

Oh god, I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't. This was all too fast. Too real.

Too close.

She licked her lips. Wetting them in preparation to kiss me, I realized with another twinge of my gut.

Her eyes fluttered shut, so I allowed mine to fall too. That at least felt natural, normal even, and in the next second her lips touched mine.

She kissed me.

Oh god.

She kissed me.

* * *

><p>The empty cursor blinked back at me as I sat down to write my admirer three days post kiss. It was past eleven o'clock, I should have gone to bed an hour ago, but I couldn't. I just couldn't.<p>

I knew my admirer probably wouldn't want to hear about my osculation with Santana, but it had been all I thought about for seventy-two hours straight. I needed to get it off my chest, and who was better a listener than a stranger?

I'd always played by the rules, been polite, and never taken risks. All that had gotten me here, freshly kissed by a girl who by all accounts hated my very existence one minute and seemed blithely ignorant of it in another.

"_**Dear Anonymous Admirer,**_

_**I was kissed for the first time today. I know you asked me questions before that I still haven't answered but this incident… That kiss. It's consumed my mind for the past three days. **_

_**It wasn't a boy, it was a girl, but I didn't mind. I really didn't mind. I don't know if I liked the kiss or not. I think I liked the act of it, but I don't think I liked the person.**_

_**I don't know what to feel. **_

_**You're a stranger to me, but maybe a stranger's advice is what I need. **_

_**Maybe you're even the one who kissed me. I kind of hope you aren't though.**_

_**If you only knew who stole my first kiss away, if you only knew… **_

_**Lord knows, my best friend still can't get past the identity of the one who kissed me. At first, he didn't even believe me."**_

I paused from my writing. Remembering. It was during lunch at school was when I first told Kurt. His reaction might have been a bit humorous if I hadn't been so wrapped up in my own thoughts.

* * *

><p>"Santana did WHAT to you?"<p>

Kurt's mouth hung open like a forgotten front door. His eyes were wide and round in shocked surprise. I think he probably expected me to say anything except what I had.

"_Santana kissed me."_

I repeated, barely believing the words myself.

He laughed hesitantly, "You're joking… right?"

I shook my head no. What else could I say? All I can think was that she had kissed me. Santana Lopez, the absolute Queen of Mean, had kissed _me, Rachel Berry,_ lowly social pariah.

I thought mostly about the kiss itself. It started out new and tentative. Like we were both in unfamiliar territory and desperately trying to do this act of kissing right.

I remember the light press of her lips, soft—_gentle_, a foreign word for me to associate to Santana, but she'd been so careful for those precious few seconds.

Something inside my very being stirred cogently, some sort of ancient instinct perhaps, for I opened my mouth slightly and this act alone seemed to encourage her to meet me in kind.

Then the kiss itself turned into something else. Something with more, um, how should I put this eloquently… something with more fervor maybe?

Santana pulled me toward her, her hands searching for a hold along my torso, and her fingertips ran down my sides like eager paintbrushes marking their first canvas. Her actions were no longer gentle, but I had to admit, I didn't mind at all.

I shivered in her arms and this seemed to excite her.

She pulled me backward, toward my car, and without a word she whirled and slammed me against it. The thud of my back colliding with the passenger door was loud in the empty parking lot, but my resulting groan was swallowed by Santana's lips. I can remember liking the roughness of her handling, the way it made a hot snake slither through my abdomen and toward my thighs…

...

"Rachel? Rachel? Earth to Rachel!"

I snapped from my reverie at once, blushing violently. "Uh, yeah, sorry… What?" I cleared my throat.

Kurt gave me a long knowing look. "I knew you were a lesbo."

"I am not a lesbo!" I said a bit louder than intended and a couple of curious looks were cast toward our lunch table. I glared at the onlookers before lowering my voice and saying, "I'm not a lesbian, okay? I don't want labels. Not yet. You of all people should be respectful of that."

Kurt recoiled, stung by my words. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I was just trying to lighten the mood. You are who you are and no label can ever define exactly who or what that is."

I nodded, forgiving him without a second's hesitation. "Do you think she'll try to kiss me again?"

"Do you want her to?" he replied.

"I—I—" I stammered. "I don't know."

That's a lie. I must certainly did want Santana to kiss me again. That electrical feeling burning in my belly still hadn't completely died away. I looked vainly to where she sat at another table with her back to me, her pony tail bobbing slightly as she talked animatedly with a fellow Cheerio.

It was no use. She refused to acknowledge my existence, even though I had repeatedly set myself up for torture. I even bumped purposefully into her once while she was at her locker. She didn't even look up. I was pretty sure I could call her out in front of everyone and she would stonily ignore me.

Kurt followed my gaze and then said with absolute conviction, "You totally want to kiss her again, BerryBoop."

I sighed and then let my head fall into my hands. "I know, but there's nothing I can do. She doesn't even act like she knows I'm alive. The kiss took her from bullying me at every opportunity to pretending I'm invisible. I don't get it, when we kissed it felt like fire. Like _fire_, Kurt!" I rubbed my temples in frustration. "Surely she felt it too!"

He reached for one of my hands and enclosed it warmly in his own. I looked up, finding his beautiful and incredibly benevolent cobalt eyes beholding me with the wisdom of someone twice his age. "I'm sure she did, Rachel, but sometimes a kiss can leave a person incredibly confused, whether gay or straight. She just needs time to work out her feelings."

I knew he was right, but the unfairness of it all struck me. "I have feelings too! It's not like I asked her to randomly kiss me in the Hive parking lot! _She_ ambushed _me_, for christ's sake!"

He seemed amused by my reaction. "And how do you feel right now, Rachel?"

My tirade was halted by this exceedingly simple question. "Well…" I started before trailing off. I found myself at an unexpected loss for words.

How did I feel?

Sort of dark, caught in turmoil, exceptionally aroused but at the same time slightly disgusted by the mere thought of having kissed Santana Lopez, and incredibly confounded by the entire lot of this.

"I'm bewildered," I said, simplifying my thoughts with a single word.

His eyebrows raised, glittery specks flashing from random points on his fair skin.

Someday I needed to tell him that he was like a diamond, sparkly and unique from everything else in the world. Then again, he'd probably just laugh at me for saying it.

"Exactly. Bewildered. And Santana feels the same way, I'll bet," he said.

"She seemed to know exactly what she was doing when she kissed me," I retorted hotly.

"And you seemed to know exactly how to respond in kind," he fired back at me with another quirk of a perfectly tweezed brow.

"You are infuriating! You're supposed to be on my side!" I slammed my hands down upon the table with two dull smacks. Not even bothering to glare at the curious stares I received again, I picked up my book bag and flounced off to somewhere Kurt was not.

He didn't bother to chase me. This wasn't the first temper-tantrum he'd been privy to, or caused for that matter. We'd been friends so long; I knew even as I stomped away, I would forgive him upon seeing him next in period four in which we shared AP English.

* * *

><p>I was brought back to the present when my computer beeped ominously.<p>

_Only ten percent of battery remaining... Please connect to power source now!_

I reached down and linked the charger to its port on my laptop before continuing to stare at the now half-filled page of my email.

I didn't know what else to write to my Anonymous Admirer. I knew that I didn't want to go into details of Kurt's reaction or of the actual kiss itself. Instead I finished my email with these paragraphs;

"_**It seems so silly to write you about all this. I can't tell you who I kissed mostly because I don't know if it will happen again. I don't know if I even want to kiss her again. **_

_**There's also the fact that I don't know if you're going to plaster this email all around the school to humiliate me. I guess I'm taking a risk even writing back to you in the first place. **_

_**Although I'm starting to realize that I don't even care. No one notices me anyway. Even when they torment me, they're not really seeing me, not really. They're just seeing the stereotype they know they must maltreat in order to keep up the system of high school society. This would just be another dagger, another armament—they'd find more interest and entertainment in the weapon than the victim whom it's intended for.**_

_**I wish—I just wish the kiss hadn't happened at all. I wanted my first kiss to be with someone I was going to fall in love with, not a one shot deal in the Hive's parking lot. **_

_**I'm sorry for going on about this. I just had to tell somebody else. Kurt thinks he knows me so well, and he does, but this was the first time in my life where I had absolutely no idea what to do next. All this time I've always had a plan of action, a goal set in mind, but when she kissed me I had absolutely no idea what would follow. **_

_**She ran away. Can you believe that? Just upped and bounced without a word because she couldn't take the idea of having kissed me. It might have been nice to hear, 'This was a mistake.' Or even, 'I'm sorry! I don't know why I did that. Let's never talk about it again.' **_

_**Not this god awful silence! I can't take her giving me the cold shoulder. I can't take knowing that at any moment, she could pop up again and kiss me, and I don't even know if I'll let her or stop her or punch her for putting me through the entire ordeal.**_

_**I just… I just wish I knew what to do now. Any advice for a very confused me, Mystery Girl?**_

_**-Rachel**_

_**P.S.: I look at the ground because it's the easiest way to disappear. People don't see you when you don't want to see them."**_

I pressed send before I could stop myself. As soon as the message closed I was left staring at my inbox, and suddenly I wished I could take it all back. What if she really did paste it all over school? Did I just commit certain social suicide?

Like I had anywhere to fall anyway! I was pretty much on ground, so if she did let everyone in on my secret kiss, I wouldn't shift much in the hierarchy of social ranking with the adding of a known lesbian kiss to my repertoire.

I closed my Macbook with a snap. If she was a traitorous bitch, let her be. I was done mulling and worrying and making myself sick over the things that hadn't happened yet. If she truly did like me like she said, maybe she would try to help me. After all, she had more courage than I did. At least she could approach the girl she liked. The idea of approaching Santana (although I still couldn't say for certain whether I _liked_ Santana or not) made me absolutely ill.

I stood up and headed for my bed, reaching for the childhood comfort of Star. I nestled her under my neck and then tunneled under the masses of my covers. With the sheets drawn over my head, I closed my eyes and tried to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow would be better.

It had to be.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** This took a lot longer than I thought it would, but I made it a little longer to make up for the wait. Hope you enjoyed it! As always, I welcome feedback and ideas for the story. You guys gave me a lot to consider for future chapters. Do it again? Please and thank you.

Until next time!

Bossmare


	3. The Decision: Is She Worthy?

**A/N:** First of all, thank you (each and every one of you) for your incredible reviews. I love and read each individual one, and was so excited to see people reviewing both the first and the second chapter. That is amazing guys! Keep it up!

Second, this is NOT a Pezberry story… However, it's going to go that way for a while. I didn't originally intend for it to be like that, but my fiancée and I were talking over the story line, and it just seemed to make sense to keep up the Santana/Rachel angst for a few chapters. Don't worry I don't plan to keep it up past Chapter 5, and since I intend for this story to span a couple years of time, I will probably speed up through most of that relationship. Faberry is getting closer and closer with every email and that I can guarantee. For all of you Brittany fans… Get ready! She's coming in very, very soon.

Third, no one edits this but me, and after writing around 5000+ words, everything starts to blur together. I apologize for all mistakes. If you are interested in beta'ing for me, please leave a review or send me a message. Not only will you get to read the chapters before everyone else, but you will have my undying gratitude. Did I mention my undying gratitude? Until then, I cannot apologize enough for my careless errors!

With that being said (and of course the obligatory I don't own Glee out of the way), without further ado, I present Chapter Three of Lines Crossed:

* * *

><p><strong>Is She Worthy?<strong>

I checked my email before I was even fully awake.

Hotmail announced that I had sixteen brand new messages! My heart surged hopefully. Maybe one was from my anonymous admirer, and I eagerly clicked on the inbox tab, waiting impatiently for the screen to download.

After what seemed like hours, the bolded print of new messages filled up my screen and at the very bottom I could see the email address of my mystery girl. With an excited twinge heating up my belly, I double-clicked on it and read;

"_Dear Rachel,_

_I have to admit I was taken aback by your message. Not because I think you're unkissable or anything, but simply because of my reactions to the idea of you being kissed by someone else._

_It made me angry and a little sad at first. Then I have to admit, I started to become jealous. I still am. Lame, right?_

_I don't know if I'm the best person to help you deal with this, especially since my words might be tainted by my own feelings. However, you did ask for my advice, so I'll do my utmost to aid you since I feel as if I can't deny you anything. _

_First kisses are supposed to be exciting. It's the novelty aspect of them I think. So it's not unusual for you to feel the way you do. After my first kiss (granted it was with a boy), I was a little disappointed. It just felt very . . . wet. Wet and cold and his breath smelled like stale Cheetos. _

_I remember thinking: 'Is this it? Is this what everyone is so worked up about? What a letdown!'_

_But then again, I think I might be interested in girls, so maybe my first kiss with a girl will be far more exciting… That is, if I ever get to kiss a girl. Wanna pop my lesbian lip-smacking cherry?_

_I'm (kind of) kidding. ;)_

_As far as what to do now, well, I think you should find a way to talk to her about what happened. More than likely she's just as confused as you are, and her obvious avoidance of everything to do with you probably comes from the fact that she does not want to deal with whatever emotions she's currently experiencing. _

_You can't force her to deal with them, and don't try because she'll resent you for it, but there's no harm in finding an opportune moment to let her know that you're in the same situation and you would be up for trying to talk this through if she's willing._

_If she rejects you, well, then she's not worthy of you anyway. There are too many eligible people out there who are just waiting for a chance to kiss you. People like me. (: _

_Can we talk about something else now? Like how adorable you are in a Hive apron. Is that restaurant named after the movie…? _

_Oh, I've forgotten the name. It has that really attractive girl and she runs around slaying Zombies left and right…? _

_Oh, I hate it when you can't remember the names of things. I always remember it an hour or two later and everyone always looks at me like I'm crazy because I can't help myself from shouting the forgotten name out loud. It's like an involuntary moment of memory Tourette's or something. _

_There is only one way to fix something like this._

_This is a moment for the __**power of Google**__. _

_Never underestimate the power of Google._

_Aha! Got it on the first try! It's called Resident Evil, and Mila is just as yummy as I remember her. Google images are a Godsend, helloooo boobies!_

_So anyway, after that brief stretch of rambling (now you're really seeing how scatter-brained I truly am), is the Hive named after the Resident Evil movie? I'm assuming it is and that must mean you are the reincarnated zombie-slaying hot girl. _

_You have to immediately report to my house and show me your __boobs__, I mean, moves. Yes, moves, that's what I meant. I have involuntary Tourette's. I think I mentioned that briefly before._

_I definitely need to see your moves. For my own protection and all. ;)_

_Mystery Girl with Mad Google Talents_

_P.S.: You're not invisible to me. I've noticed you since the day I first saw you. I bet you don't remember that, but you were wearing a red jumper and these adorable jeans that were skinny way before skinny jeans were cool. How hipster of you! I don't think you could ever be invisible to me, especially after hearing you sing. After hearing your voice… well, I couldn't—and can't—forget you."_

I stopped reading with a big silly grin on my face. She was so funny. Even through emails, she'd made me laugh and smile more than I had in a very long time. I had completely forgotten about the Santana situation by the time I had read to the end of the email, and it was only during a second read through that I remembered at all.

She had given me such sound, wonderful advice. And she was right. I needed to talk to Santana, and if she reacted the way I thought she would, I could chalk the kiss up to a freak moment in nature and move on with my life.

I could maybe start focusing on the identity of my admirer. She certainly seemed like a way better option than Santana. I remembered the outfit she was speaking about, but I had outgrown that years ago so she must have known me for a very long time.

Hmm, well that didn't really help things much. I didn't have any friends, so there was no real narrowing down the pool of people I knew because it was pretty shallow to begin with. And by shallow, I mean non-existent.

I reflected back to what she said about her first kiss with a boy. It was definitely different than what I experienced with Santana… My first kiss hadn't been stale or disappointing. Santana definitely didn't smell of Cheetos either. She smelled warm, exotic—heady and strong like a coffee bar on a rainy day. My first kiss wasn't anywhere near disappointing, far from it, actually more like invigorating and exciting and addicting. I could definitely see what the hype over this kissing business came from thanks to my parking-lot tryst.

Did that make me gay?

Oh god… Maybe I really am a giant homo.

I shook myself. No sense in puzzling out a bunch of labels right now. After all, I was even old enough to vote yet! How could I describe myself with such a definitive term?

I could come up with a plan to talk to Santana later, but right now I needed to get ready for school. Writing my anonymous admirer back would have to wait as well, as much I loathed to put it off, because I only had about thirty minutes to throw on clothes and wolf down my usual nutritious breakfast.

My two dads were very strict about a good start to the day (polished attire, big breakfast, early arrival to school), and the last thing I needed was to rouse any suspicion with them by running late. They would be on me like bloodhounds, and both of them together could break a Mafia member—I stood no chance against their combined interrogation skills.

I wasn't ready to divulge any information about my secret internet admirer or my first kiss. They wouldn't understand and would probably force me to go to some preparatory school. They'd been threatening to send me to one ever since I started high school and subsequently the bullying from my peers quadrupled.

I stubbornly refused to transfer though. I couldn't leave Kurt to fend for himself in the McKinley jungle. He needed me, just as I needed him, and although we were both pariahs, we were pariahs _together_ and that was what kept us sane.

I dressed quickly. The act of picking out my clothes the night before always made getting ready in the morning a breeze. I pulled on a cute little navy and white polka dotted dress, and then matched them with some white tights I had just bought at Penny's. Stepping into some Mary Jane's and adjusting my star necklace so it hung down low and bright, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. _Nerd-chic_, that's what Kurt called my style and I agreed with him.

I'd never be like the popular kids, clad in American Eagle, Hollister, and Abercrombie. No, I preferred to have my own style instead of trying to blend in like everyone else. I kept a mantra going in my head, one that said: One day being different will make you better than the rest of the high school drones. One day being different will set you apart for recognition instead of ridicule.

I grinned and the Rachel in the mirror smiled back at me with a determined sparkle in her eye. Yes, this was going to be a good day. I could just feel it. I grabbed my book bag from its position by my bedroom door and headed down the stairs to begin the day.

* * *

><p>First and second period flew by, and I couldn't help but feel a little smug. I had been right this morning in my bedroom, because the day was going great! I had managed to get two As on both tests in my first and second classes, and then I heard rumors of some teacher starting a Glee club. I was already in the school choir, but the idea of a more modern show choir thrilled me to my very bones.<p>

I was standing by my locker, exchanging books and getting out my lunch money, when a shadow hung over my right shoulder. I leaned back, grabbing a hold of the metal door of my locker, and peered around the two foot section blocking my view.

Noah Puckerman, one of the more popular jocks, stood there staring at me with a trademark smirk on his ugly mug.

"What's up, Fellow Jew?" he greeted while looking me up and down.

The urge to shower welled within me. His words were so oily slick and there was a smell coming from him not unlike the odor I associated with Kurt's father, Bert Hummel, whenever he came home from a long day at his garage. Burt had the excuse of more than twelve hours tinkering with cars until his fingers were blackened and his face smeared with streaks of oil and dirt, but Puckerman didn't like cars all that much. He was too much of a pretty boy.

No, his smell of oil and exhaust leeched out of his pores, because inside he was as greasy as the oil he used to slick back his Mohawk.

"Hi," I replied frostily, grabbing the last book I needed and shutting my locker with a pointed bang. "Do you need something, Noah?"

"Puck," he corrected cheerfully, ignoring the impatient note in my voice. "Most girls call me the Puck-man, or the Puck-Master."

He waited for me to laugh.

I didn't.

"Like Fuck-Master, but with a P," he tried again.

I eyed him coolly. "I got it."

"Oh, well… I was just wondering if a Fellow Jew like yourself might want to go out sometime. We could meet for coffee, or something. You'd pay of course. And then afterward we could go back to my place and I could show you why they call me the Puck-Master," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Gross, no," I said without even pausing to consider.

"Why not?" he seemed genuinely surprised at my immediate rejection. It dawned on me that he didn't get rebuffed a lot.

Double gross.

"Because I find you revolting," I said simply.

"That's not very nice, Berry. C'mon, I need to sleep with a Jewish girl and then I'll have slept with every religion except Buddhism," his eyes went dreamy all of a sudden. "And a Buddhist girl will be easy once I visit California. There are like a billion of them there. Plus, you're the only Jewish girl in the school," he said quickly as if this were a simple matter. I was the only Jewish girl and therefore I needed to sleep with him. You know, for the Jewish faith and all.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Uh… That doesn't exactly make me more inclined to sleep with you, Puck, and I don't even know you. You haven't said more than two words to me the whole time we've gone to school together. You've slushied me more times than you've spoken to me."

That was true. Puckerman had slushied me more times than I could even remember. At least once a week for the better part of two or three years, and now here he was, demanding that I sleep with him so he could meet some sort of weird quota?

Well, he definitely had a set of balls on him, I had to give him that.

"Well, that's what the coffee date is for… You can talk all about yourself and I'll pretend to listen. I'll know everything about you by the time we're done. You're like, what, sixteen? Seventeen? There can't be that much to know. And the slushy thing, well, you can't hold that against me. It's a rite of passage in this place. You should be flattered I came back to slushy you twice."

My eyebrows jumped skyward. "That's supposed to be a compliment? Really? You expect me to believe that—"

Puckerman was saved from the rest of my lecture when someone stepped between us aggressively.

For the second time, I was completely taken aback to see Santana Lopez. She was getting pretty good at this surprising the hell out of Rachel thing.

Santana faced Puckerman with a glare that made his hands inch toward his private areas protectively. He immediately backed up a step, but that only made Santana take two steps forward. By the cock of her head and the position of her hands on her hips, I could tell she was all kinds of pissed.

"Move along," she demanded.

"I – I—" Puckerman stuttered.

"I—I—I said fucking move along, Darwin Award," she mocked.

He nodded once, turned and left without another word.

Santana and I were left in awkward silence. Her back was still to me, and I noticed her pony-tail was swinging back and forth in the aftershock of her fury. I looked around at the hall, noticing that it had grown oddly silent for how full it was.

Well, that might have been because every single person was currently staring at us.

Awesome.

Santana seemed to notice at the exact same time I did. I wondered how she would play this one off. Her shoulders slumped for a moment, and I realized she wasn't always so big and fierce and mean. Somewhere beneath that façade she wore all the time was one tired girl, and I found myself feeling bad for her.

That didn't last long of course. Santana didn't strike me as a person who liked to be pitied.

Turns out I was right, because just as that thought was echoing away, she spun around and shoved me up against the closed door of my locker. The last time she slammed me into something, I had quite liked it, but this time it just hurt. I cried out but it was lost in her thunderous and angry shout, "Stupid Hobbit! Flirting with my man, huh?"

"N-No," I stammered, staring at the floor in shock. Had she saved me because she liked me, or because she thought I was actually trying to set up a date with Puck?

The pressure she was putting on my shoulders grew with each of her next words.

"Good because you'd have to be mentally handicapped if you thought he would be interested in someone like you."

I nodded in response. There was a moment of silence and then the crushing weight of her strength lifted and I heard her turn and walk away. As soon as she left me, the hall erupted into sound again. The scene was over and our audience was no longer interested.

I stood there long after the bell signaling for classes to begin rang. The tears that streaked down my face were the only sign I hadn't turned into a statue. I couldn't help but hope I would.

It was just like my life. As soon as things starting looking up, they went to hell in a hand basket at a moment's notice. Now I couldn't talk to Santana. Not after how hard she had shoved me, and the way she had held me there. I never saw her eyes, never looked up to read her face, but somewhere inside me I knew they had been full of hate and fear. Maybe not for me, but it was still there and I realized I could never want to be with someone like that.

My anonymous admirer was right. Santana wasn't worthy of me. No way.

* * *

><p>I left school pretty late that day. I ended up staying behind to attend my academic team's practice, which ran rather long since we hardly ever agreed on what subject to practice first. Usually we just ended up arguing for two hours before someone stormed out in a dramatic huff.<p>

That was usually me. Some people call me a right-fighter. They say I think I'm always right and never give anyone else a chance to be. I don't know how true that is, but I do know I sure hate to be wrong, and I'm not wrong often… at least, in my opinion anyway.

As I walked across the school parking lot, it seemed strange how empty it was. Dusk was just settling in, and the entire world was bathed in a sleepy yellow glow.

I headed toward my car, which was parked in the lowerclassman parking lot all the way behind the school. As I walked, I could hear the sound of a group of Cheerios heading toward the upperclassman parking lot. It didn't matter if they were lowerclassman or not, they got to park there simply on status alone.

I wondered if Santana was among them. Probably, since girls like Santana and Quinn and the other Cheerios usually traveled in packs.

I was completely lost in thought, pondering what it would be like to travel in a pack, when I heard someone call out my name. "Rachel!"

I jumped to the right about a foot before whipping my head around and attempting to peer through the hazy dusk.

Like a freaking reoccurring nightmare, Santana stepped from the shadows of one of the school's awnings.

Once I realized who it was, I couldn't help myself; I snapped angrily, "Okay, you've got to stop this Edward Cullen impersonation. It's giving me mini-heart attacks every time you do."

For a second time, I saw surprise flirt with Santana's normally stony expression, and to my complete and utter astonishment, she laughed.

She actually _laughed_.

It was a real laugh, much more genuine than the throaty chuckle she warbled at people's expenses daily. There was no purposeful meanness or cruelty in this new laugh; it was just an ordinary sound of amusement. I didn't know she could do such a normal thing to be honest.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," she said with a grin. For some strange reason it seemed to please her that she had anyway. "I wasn't even waiting for you. I was waiting for my grandmother to pick me up, but this seemed like a good enough moment as any to talk to you."

This surprised me as well. I didn't expect Santana to wait for anything, let alone her grandmother. I figured she always rode home in a sports car with a football player. The idea of her having a grandmother seemed implausible. Santana actually had a family? For some reason I never imagined her life outside of school and the Hive, and now suddenly, I realized she was more than just a McKinley High Bully. She was a person, with a life and a family and probably her own set of problems.

Funny, I guess I just never imagined Santana as a human before.

I broke away from my thoughts when I realized she was waiting for some sort of answer from me.

"O-kay," I said slowly. "You want to talk. Strange thing though, the last 'talk' I remember us having involved you shoving me into a group of lockers and telling me I was mentally handicapped for thinking I could 'steal your man'. Which is a bit ironic, don't you think? Because only a few days before that, you were making out with me."

Santana flinched at the mention of our kiss. "I've been thinking about that kiss," she mused aloud, less for my benefit and more for her own, "and I still don't know what to make of it."

"Well that makes two of us," I retorted.

Her eyes jumped to my own. Tawny embers kindled inside their depths, and for a second I was drawn into them, like an eager moth to the light of a flame. Then remembering myself, I tore my gaze away and looked at the ground. "I regret it," I heard myself say, but I wasn't sure if _I_ even believed my words. "I wish you hadn't. I wanted my first kiss to be beautiful and wonderful and full of the promise of future love."

Santana snorted as if she didn't believe me. "_That_ was your first kiss?"

I glared back up at her, "Yes! Why is that so unbelievable to you?"

She recoiled a bit. I could tell she was at a loss for words. It didn't last long, but these little flickers drove the point home that she was actually human underneath that coating of callousness.

"I don't know," she said softly, "I guess because you were so good at it, I thought maybe you had kissed a girl before."

This time it was my turn to snort out of incredulousness. "Hah! I've never even thought about kissing anyone before! Let alone actually _done_ it."

"Not even a boy?" Santana asked with surprise.

"Not even a boy." I said, realizing it sounded a bit lame.

"Oh," was all Santana said in response.

There was a stretch of silence. Santana finally broke it by saying, "I think I want to kiss you again."

It was growing darker now, and I hope she couldn't see my expression, which was caught somewhere between disbelief and yearning. I steeled myself against the idea of another kiss. Santana wasn't worthy. I had to remember that.

She took two or three steps toward me, and then lingered there hesitantly. "I know I'm not nice to you, and I know that we barely know each other… But that kiss, I can still feel it in my toes."

I looked away, studying the chain-link fence enclosed around the school's baseball diamond. I began to count the number of snags and tears, hoping that by distracting myself, I wouldn't give away my immense desire to kiss Santana again. My feet and head said: Run! Run as fast as you can and don't look back!

But something held me there, steadfast, unyielding to my desire for flight.

I heard her come closer, and felt her hand close around my right one. I clenched it suddenly, drawing it away from her tentative grip with a determined motion. "Don't," I breathed out, and my voice was harsh and sharp in the coming twilight.

Her hand fell to her side. "Why?" Her normally husky tones seemed almost hurt.

I scoffed. That was impossible. Nothing could hurt Santana! She was the Ice Queen, the bitch from Hell—practically invincible.

"Because you're awful to me," my eyes snapped away from the fence and back to her own. I held her gaze and took a giant step toward her. I pointed a finger and began to bounce it up and down as I made my point. "You're mean! You're hateful! You're abusive! And you think a kiss can change all of that? You think you can just kiss me whenever you feel like, and then mock me the next day? Fuck that, Santana Lopez! I think they misheard your mother when they wrote your name on your birth certificate. I think she said Satanic Lopez! It was the fucking typo that stopped us all from calling you what you really are!"

My chest heaved from my explosive monologue. I'd never said so many cuss words in all my life.

It felt unbelievably good.

I expected Santana to take a swing at me, either verbally or physically, but she just stood there, motionless. The only sign she was alive was the slight clenching and unclenching of her jaw.

I was afraid we would be stuck like that forever, when she spoke out, two very broken words, almost inaudible but somehow I managed to hear them, faint as they were:

"I'm sorry."

I stood rooted to the spot. The unthinkable had just happened… Santana Lopez _apologizing?_

"_What?_"

It was all I could manage.

"I'm not going to say it again," she said with a jut of her chin, "you heard me."

"How many times have you said I'm sorry in your life?" I asked impulsively.

"Once," she answered without missing a beat.

I believed her. I didn't ask if that counted right now or not. I knew it did.

A muscle twitched in her jaw, and I reached out to touch it without thinking. My fingertip almost made contact when she reached up and covered my hand with her own, pressing it against the offending spasm. Then after a moment, she lowered our hands slightly and allowed her fingers to lace themselves with mine. We stood like that for only a second or two, holding hands, palm touching palm, and I could feel my heart beginning to pound in my chest. It was entirely reminiscent of the first time she kissed me.

This time, I found myself inching closer until our hips bumped. Her eyes were softer now, and there was so much depth to them. They were like wells of caramelized brandy; soft, gentle, and I realized with a start, _kind_.

Seeing that, I reached out with my free hand to cup her face again, finding smooth endless skin beneath my fingertips. She closed her eyes, and I could feel the tension sort of seep out from her.

Without a word, I closed the distance between us and kissed her. There was nothing tentative about this kiss, for I knew what to do now. When our lips touched, I eagerly allowed my lips to spread lightly, and she tugged none-too-gently on my bottom lip with her teeth. The feeling of it made me groan into her mouth, and this quickened her motions, her free hand once idly roaming down my back, now headed for a designated place. It was only when she found hold in the nape of my neck that I began to push her backward and toward the brick outer-wall of McKinley.

She released my hand, and I put it out protectively behind her, wanting to keep her from an uncomfortable smack against the roughness of the bricks. Once of my fingertips made contact with the porous red structure, I slowly pushed her toward it until the wall was supporting both our weights, and then I really allowed the wild animal inside me to take over.

I kissed Santana like I was never going to again. I kissed her roughly, gently, and everything in between. I pulled back and kissed down her neck, inhaling the exotic scent of her all the while, and allowed my hands to roam over every inch of her body.

My hand slipped under her Cheerios uniform and I found smooth but firm muscle there. My fingers wandered over the crest and the troughs of her muscles before I realized with a start that how well defined and strong they were. Surprised, I pulled back and breathed with a bit of wonder, "you have abs! Like real, actual abs!" I touched them lightly again, my curiosity doubling at the excited shiver she gave in response.

She laughed in answer before kissing my jaw, my neck, and then along my collarbone. "Well duh, Coach Sylvester makes us work out like crazy all the time." I could feel her lips forming the words against my collarbone and it made me shiver in response. It tickled but not in the normal way. It tickled in a way that made something in my lower belly do back-flips and front-flips at the same time.

"Well, don't go exploring along my stomach. I don't have a freaking six pack lurking under my shirt." The tone of my voice made her giggle again and I grinned, quite pleased with myself. No one found me funny… well, _ever_.

I tilted her chin up, claiming her mouth hungrily with my own, and resumed kissing her feverishly. I might have kissed her the whole damn night had she not pushed me away gently.

"Rachel," she said in a voice that was raspy and hoarse, "we have to stop."

"No," I said stubbornly, kissing her again. She kissed me back for a full five minutes before she broke us apart again.

"Rachel," she repeated; her breathing quick and short and sleepy with want. "My abuela will be here soon and someone could see us. Someone probably already did." This bit of thinking out loud made her push me back firmer than before.

I took a step away from her and glared at her. "So it's back to the same old thing, isn't it? You go back to treating me like shit and I go back to obsessing over when I get to kiss you again. Awesome."

She grasped my hand in an attempt to soothe me, and said, "No! It's not going to be like that. I can't promise you anything except I will kiss you again. Just not like this, not here."

I allowed her fingers to slide through mine and said, "Okay, when?"

She considered for a moment. "Do you live in a one story house?"

I nodded, confused. Most houses in Lima were only one story. We weren't exactly known for being an overtly rich town, although my dads did make a lot of money, much more than the other kids' parents. Still we only had a one story house, but that was all we really needed since there was only three of us.

"I'll come to your window," she said, drawing away from me, "tomorrow night. You can wait for me by the light of the moon." She grinned as if she had something particularly clever.

I frowned. "Am I supposed to be like all swoony over that?"

It was her turn to frown. "It's a Melissa Etheridge song… You know," and here she began to sing, "'Come to my window / Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon / Come to my window / I'll be home soon'?"

Her voice wasn't half bad, I had to admit, and I smiled as I shook my head no. "No, never heard it. You can sing it for me tomorrow night though."

She grinned and nodded, "All right, goodbye Rachel." She let go of my hand and started to walk off into the gathering night.

It struck me that she didn't know where I lived, but then I remembered that she did.

I had lived next to one of her best friends for years.

_Quinn Fabray was my next door neighbor after all._

* * *

><p><strong>(AN:** I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review! They are without a doubt total muse boosters. Advice, thoughts on the story and things you'd like to see happen/added in are ALWAYS welcome. I love reading how you guys think it's going to go, and I hope with each little twist I give that I can keep you on your toes. A rather… revealing… chapter is on its way next. *wicked grin*)


	4. The Electric Feel

Hello readers! I bet you weren't expecting another update from me so soon, eh?

I told you that reviews can be muse boosters.

I hope you enjoy it!

Oh, I don't own Glee. It would be a lot different if I did…

Without further ado, Chapter Four…

* * *

><p><strong>Electric Feel<strong>

Santana quickly became the best part of every night; she slipped through my window like a shadow, often times surprising me when I heard the soft thud of her Sperry's on my bedroom floor. She always came to me quickly, her lips finding mine, and together we tumbled onto my bed.

Night after night, I found myself falling asleep in Santana's arms and waking up to an empty bed with only the sunlight kissing my face.

Sometimes, after we'd fallen into the depths of my sheets, and our lips were numb from all the kissing, she would open up and actually talk to me.

She told me stories, stories about her grandmother, stories about her numerous siblings, and even a few memorable tales about a certain pet hamster. As she recounted his death mournfully, I found my lips twitching. I tried to conceal my grin but the idea of Santana actually mourning something as small and inconsequential as a hamster… Well, I guess I just found it a bit unbelievable and a bit ridiculous.

"What?" She frowned at my reaction, almost seemingly hurt by it.

"You—" I couldn't contain my giggles, "You sucked him up _into the vacuum_?"

"Not on purpose!"

"Did you look inside the bag? To see if he was alive?"

She shook her head. "I knew he wasn't."

"How?" I asked, genuinely curious.

She sighed and said, "Well the bag, it just made this awful popping sound and inflated in like a second."

"So… he exploded?"

"I don't know! I didn't look!"

"So how do you know it was him that made it get all inflated?"

This caught her off guard. "Well, I don't know… I guess I don't really know it was him _for sure_, but we never found him and it was such an odd thing for the vacuum cleaner to just do, so I figured I vacuumed him up."

This simple conclusion which seemed so obvious in her mind undid me. I couldn't contain my laughter anymore. It slipped out of me in little gasps. "So, you _think_ you vacuumed up your hamster but you're not entirely sure and you were too much of a chicken to look?"

She frowned. "Well, yeah, but it's not the way you make it sound. I mean who wants to see an exploded hamster?"

I raised my hand.

"You're sick!" She shoved me playfully.

"Well, I would at least check! I wouldn't want to be wrong and then sentence him to a life of slow starvation in my room or house or something."

The look on her face made me back-pedal immediately. "Uh, but I'm sure that it was a quick, relatively painless death. I heard dying in an explosion is less painful than dying in your sleep."

"Really?" she asked hopefully.

"Er, no, I just made that up but it sounded nice, didn't it?"

This time she just kissed me.

I loved those nights with her. I clung to them whenever I passed her in the hallway and felt my heart wrench, for I was as good as invisible to her. Her endless torturing of me was apparently over, and she even looked the other way whenever Kurt passed her now, I guess my new pardon from ridicule even included my only friend, but she gave no outward indication she knew I even existed anymore.

It was only when she slipped into the semi-darkness of my room, and fell into my arms that I became an actual part of reality for her. I tried to understand why things had to be this way, but try as hard as I might, there just didn't seem to be a particularly good answer.

With the days slipping by, I wondered how much longer we could go on like this. It seemed like living a lie, like we were leading one life by day and another by night.

* * *

><p>One morning, when I awoke alone, I checked my email and opened up a new message from my Anonymous Admirer. Despite my new found relationship with Santana—if you could even call it that—the emails between my mystery girl and I continued, and I couldn't help but develop feelings for her.<p>

They were confusing feelings, even more confounding than the feelings I felt for Santana, and I tried to avoid dwelling on them too much. There was no point, since my anonymous admirer seemed to want to stay—well—_anonymous_.

Today my mystery girl was going on and on about one of her closest friends. She knew that her friend was keeping something from her, but she didn't know exactly what, and I could clearly see that the not knowing was driving her crazy.

I had offered advice before, but my mystery girl seemed unable to confront this friend of hers. She said that the friend had always been there for her, and listened whenever she talked, so she couldn't just demand answers or anything like that. In time, she was sure that her friend would open up, but the time it was taking was killing my poor anonymous admirer.

She even admitted that she told her friend about her 'feelings' for me, something I found a little unsettling. Was my anonymous admirer right to trust this other girl? Then again, if her friend did betray my mystery girl, maybe then I could find out her true identity… But at what cost? Once the secret was out, maybe my anonymous admirer would choose to never speak to me again, and I found this to be the most frightening thought of all.

I tried thinking up nicknames for her because I couldn't keep calling her Anonymous Admirer forever. I needed something secretive and sexy, but nothing really stuck until I referred to her as my 'Secret-Keeper'. From then on, she signed all her emails as either Mystery Girl or Secret-Keeper, and I had to admit, both were rather fitting since I told her everything and yet knew nothing of her actual identity.

As I reached the bottom of her email, I found something strange. It was signed:

_A Crazy in Unrequited Love Cheerio_

Did that mean she was part of the Cheerios? Or was it just a cutesy way of referring to herself? Oh damn my anonymous admirer, she must have known this would irk me to no end, and she also probably guessed I was too much of a chicken shit to actually ask her what she meant by that.

Well, I'd show her!

I furiously typed out a reply.

"**Dear Secret-Keeper,**

**So it's time for you to share some of YOUR secrets. Are you part of the Cheerios, or do you just like throwing me bait and watching me squirm? You say you've grown to trust me, so why not meet me?**

**You know, in person, like two normal people. How about the School Library at 4:30 PM on Friday? It'll be deserted, and if you are a Cheerio, I know your practice ends around that time. I hope to see you there. **

**Rachel"**

I hit sent before my brain fully caught up with my fingers.

I felt a little chill go through me. Either I was going to see my Anonymous Admirer tomorrow, or I was going to drive her away forever.

I realized that I needed to do this. We couldn't be email buddies forever, especially with whatever I had going on with Santana. It felt a little cruel to be emailing another girl behind her back. I'd never even seen Santana touch another person since our secret night meetings had started, and somehow I knew if she found out about my anonymous admirer, she wouldn't be pleased. She seemed like the jealous type to me.

I closed my computer and vowed not to open it again until after Friday.

With each minute that passed, I was hurtling toward the biggest confrontation of my lifetime, even though I didn't know it yet.

* * *

><p>Kurt waited at my locker at the end of the school day on Friday. I still had another hour before I was due to meet with my anonymous admirer but I already felt butterflies in my stomach.<p>

I hurried to meet him, clutching a pile of books under one arm and balancing a History diorama with another. He wordlessly did my locker combination for me, and I gave him a grateful smile as I dumped the books inside with a resounding echo of dull thuds. "Thanks," I said, "I've been carrying those all the way from Mr. Seder's class. Don't you hate how he requests for you to bring both of his textbooks, your workbook, and a binder when the only thing you ever freaking do in class are the handouts he gives you?"

Kurt jerked his head sympathetically since he had Mr. Seder third period too before he said excitedly, "Guess what?"

I looked up from where I was stacking my books neatly into their proper places; the history project resting precariously atop my boot clad feet. "What?" I asked curiously, before glancing back to the innards of my locker, rummaging around for the folders I needed to do my homework tonight.

"Santana Lopez had a total mental breakdown in my English class today."

I jerked around, notebooks and papers flying every which way, some landing on top of my project with a sickening crunch. I didn't even notice because I was too busy searching his face, my voice urgent as I demanded, "What happened? Tell me everything!"

He recoiled a bit. I'd neglected to mention the nightly encounters Santana and I shared each evening. For some reason I knew he wouldn't approve, and also because they felt private and secretive. I felt like I couldn't tell him about them. I ignored a small voice in my head that said: '_If you can't tell your best friend about it, you probably shouldn't be doing it.'_

All he knew was she had kissed me again, and now suddenly she and I were in a state of perpetually ignoring each other. Kurt wasn't one to pry for details, and I think he assumed my little affair with Santana had ended, and therefore I could tell he was a bit taken aback by my reaction.

"I don't really know. She and Quinn Fabray were talking in hushed whispers, and then she just flipped shit. Threw a desk and kept telling Quinn that she couldn't go. I don't know who was more shocked, Quinn or the rest of us. I mean she incredibly hulk'd a freaking desk and just ran out—"

I didn't stand around to listen to the rest. As I took off running, leaving my locker gaping open like a fresh wound, I heard Kurt call after me. "Rachel? What the hell? Rachel! Wait!"

I couldn't talk to him right now. I couldn't talk to anyone right now. I just needed to get to Santana. Something had happened, what exactly I didn't know, but Santana didn't just throw desks around because she felt like it. Quinn was her best friend in the world, I knew this because she'd said it many times, usually a bit forlornly as if she felt she didn't deserve the friendship. For Santana to react to something Quinn had said, especially like _that_, well, I just knew I needed to get to Santana and fast.

I didn't know where I was going until I was there. The awning where I shared my second kiss with Santana at first glance looked empty, but just peeping out from behind the corner of a bush was a red converse sneaker. I listened for a moment, and sure enough I could hear Santana's soft sobbing, so quiet it could have been the mew of a kitten.

I gingerly stepped around the clump of underbrush and found Santana sitting with her back against the wall, knees tucked protectively to her chest, and one hand shoved into her mouth to keep the sound of her crying from carrying further than her secret hiding place.

I knelt down beside her and took her hand from her mouth, running my fingers over the deep indents her teeth had left, before gathering her up in my arms. She laid her head on my shoulder and began to sob, saying something intelligible over and over.

I rubbed her back and whispered soothingly into her ear. "It's all right," I clutched her a bit closer. "It's all right. You're fine. I'm here. You're fine."

She relaxed and the tension left her shoulders like the snap of a rubber band breaking. As she sagged into my arms, I held her closer and tighter, repeating my mantra of words as if they would somehow reassure her and stop all of her sadness.

I'd held her for several minutes when suddenly I could make out what she was saying over and over again.

"I'm sorry."

_What?_ For her to say I'm sorry was one thing, but to repeat it endlessly was another thing entirely. What had she done? And why did it involve Quinn? Confused, I asked, "About what, San?"

The nickname I heard all her friends call her didn't feel foreign on my lips like I thought it might. She didn't react at all to me calling her that; instead she simply continued to sob brokenly: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Finally, she seemed to collect herself a bit, quieted, and then she pushed me away gently. I leaned back, and searched her warm almond colored eyes. I couldn't see anything but raw pain inside them, and I reached for her again, but she placed both hands on my shoulders lightly, keeping me away.

"Rachel, wait," she sniffed softly; the sounds of her cries hurt me to my very core. I hated seeing her like this. It made me angry. Inexplicably angry!

"Do you want me to talk to Quinn?" I demanded. "Because I will! I'll tell her exactly what I think of her. If she's hurt you, I'll—"

"No!" Santana said sharply, her fingers suddenly digging into the softness of my sweatshirt. "It's not what Quinn did, Rachel. It's what_ I_ did."

I couldn't stop myself. "What did you do?"

But I didn't want to know. I really didn't. Somehow I knew whatever she would say next would change things between us.

"She's _her_, Rachel."

I frowned. What did she mean by that?

And then I knew. I just knew.

Santana confirmed my assessment.

"She's your Anonymous Admirer or whatever she calls herself." Santana began to cry quietly again.

I rocked back onto my heels, shell-shocked. I released my grip on Santana and drew my arms across my chest. I couldn't look at Santana, so I just looked at the ground. The words '_She's your Anonymous Admirer…_' kept reverberating over and over in my head.

"You knew," my voice was so quiet, but Santana heard and stiffened in response. "You knew this whole time and didn't tell me. Why?"

The question was simple, but even I knew the answer to it could never be.

"I—I, I don't know. At first I just, I just didn't want her to have you. She has everything! Captain of the Cheerios, Finn Hudson's love, a perfect family, a nice car, money, the ranking as the most popular girl in the school… And to top it all off, she's so god damn nice, you can't even hate her for it. In fact, she deserves it." Santana broke off; her hands suddenly clenched at the bottom of her cheerio skirt. I studied them, the cuticles on her fingers were smooth and round, hard and shiny, and I'd traced them with my own fingers countless times. Back then I felt I knew Santana, understood her even, and now I realized I didn't know her at all.

"She didn't have me," I said simply.

"Right," Santana agreed. "She didn't have you."

We sat in silence for a moment. She cried, and my mind raced. Quinn Fabray? In love with me? It seemed impossible. Like the start of a really unfunny joke, one that would end with me covered in slushy and Santana and Quinn laughing hysterically at my expense.

Then I remembered. Quinn had never laughed at me, never slushied me, never said as much as an unkind word to me. She'd always been nice, and I'd always been suspicious, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I realized it never had because she was in love with me. Of all the ways I expected the identity of my admirer to come out, well, this wasn't it.

Santana was still talking, and I tried vainly to listen to her. "…She wanted you so desperately, but between her religion and her family and Finn… Well, she didn't dare even approach you. She watched you from afar, counseled me against picking on you and we even fought over it once…" Santana laughed bitterly here. "But you can't stay mad at Quinn. You can't even disagree with her. She's always right; right about people, right about life, right about everything. I knew if she wanted you, there had to be a damn good reason."

I realized this was all a way to get at Quinn. All this effort, seducing me, creeping into my bedroom, was all for show. All about Santana proving to Quinn that she could get to something first. Santana needed something that Quinn would never be brave enough to go after.

Me.

"I hated you at first because you held her attention." Santana said quietly. "Then, like her, I started to watch you. I started to listen when you sang, and I guess my hatred and jealousy turned into something else… I never planned for this to happen. I never planned for the way I feel. I tried to stop; it was wrong, cruel even for me. I just had to know…"

There was anger boiling up inside of me. It was as if I became a giant black pot filled with water resting on a stove turned impossibly high. Soon, very soon, I was going to bubble over and burn everything in my way.

Santana didn't sense my brewing anger. She simply continued on with her confession. "She had confessed her feelings about you before I kissed you in the parking lot. I knew it was wrong… I did, but I somehow wanted to see what it was that made you so damn desirable. What made us want you? Was it your eyes? Your smile? The way you sang? I had to know. And when I kissed you, things changed… They became—"

My limit was reached. The water burst forth and I jumped to my feet. "Screw you, Santana!" I heard myself yell. "I'm not some sort of desirable doll! You fucking _played_ me! All to get at Quinn! Because you're jealous of all the things she has? Well guess what? That's all they are, _things_, and someday if you finally get your wish and have them—you'll realize all that you lost along the way to get them, and then you'll finally realize you've been wrong all this time about—about _everything_! God, I used to just not like you, but now I fucking _loathe_ you. Stay away from me! STAY AWAY!"

And with that, I turned and ran, leaving her there in the bushes.

* * *

><p>That night I locked my window. I wasn't taking chances on seeing Santana again. I knew if she came, I would simply explode in a series of swearing and shouting in her general direction. My dads would run up the stairs, and then things would get awkward for all of us pretty fast.<p>

It was better to not see Santana, period. I considered going downstairs and telling my dads that I'd reconsidered and would go to preparatory school. Anything to avoid seeing Santana ever again! But then I remembered Kurt and I tossed aside the thought of transferring schools. He was too important to lose.

I thought about calling him but worried he would be angry about me not telling him everything all along. I couldn't stand the thought of having him angry at me, not right now.

No, I would have to deal with this myself. A part of me itched to open up my email to see if my anonymous admirer—well, I guess I could stop calling her that now—to see if _Quinn_ sent me any emails. I decided against it. If I started talking to her, I would be forced to tell her about Santana and everything.

Santana and Quinn had been friends forever. I didn't want to be the reason they stopped. Let Santana live with the guilt of trying to steal me away, I heard guilt is a far more powerful weapon than confrontation anyway.

I decided sleep would be best of all. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant I had two McKinley High free days ahead of me. I could decide what to do about everything in the interim between now and Monday… Right now I just wanted to sleep.

I must have slept through the first of the pebbles, because eventually she chose an actual rock.

THUNK!

I sat up, confused and rubbing my eyes, knowing it was incredibly early in the morning even before I glanced at my alarm clock. I turned my head to check the time and it read: 2:34 am. Who in the hell was outside my window at this hour?

I sprang from bed and headed toward my window, unlocking it and slipping it up so I could stick my head out. "Santana, I fucking swear if you don't leave, I will—"

And there stood Quinn Fabray.

We locked eyes for an instant before she said: "Santana? Why would Santana be here?"

I swallowed. "Um, er, why are you here?"

She bristled. "Well, you said to meet you at the Library and I was there and you weren't. You didn't answer any of my emails and I couldn't sleep and I don't know. Everything about this is insane. You make me insane."

"You don't even know me," I interjected.

"Yes I do. I knew you even before all those emails. Your favorite color is red, your favorite food is macaroni and cheese, and you wear a star necklace around your neck all the time because you want to be one. Your best friend is Kurt, and you'd do anything for him. You love openly, but feel unloved yourself. You watch the ground and have no idea everyone else is watching you. I know you, Rachel Berry. Maybe not as well as I'd like to, but I do know you—and if you thought about it, you'd realize you know me too."

Suddenly I remembered distant things. Playing with Quinn on the playground, holding her hand once to help her down from the seemingly massive steps of the bus, and watching her play longingly on the enormous swingset in her backyard. I was not allowed over at her house of course, because her parents were super religious and my dads were, well, obviously not exactly very high up on the Fabray invite list.

"You knew it was me," she said suddenly, breaking me from my reverie. "You knew… You knew because of her!"

I knew who she meant and finally I nodded once. "She was the one who kissed me, and the one who caused me to ask for your advice."

Quinn's eyes turned dark with unshed tears. "Why would she do that?"

"Because I am apparently the one thing you would never actually go after, and it made her feel as if she had something or someone over you."

"She's my best friend." She said a bit brokenly.

I tried to imagine if I had liked Quinn or Santana, and Kurt had successfully gone after them. It seemed unthinkable, unbelievable, but maybe Quinn had felt the same way about Santana.

I climbed out of my window, doing it much less gracefully than Santana, and actually landing in a messy heap in the mulch. Standing up quickly, a bit embarrassed, I started to make my way toward Quinn. Once I was a few feet away, I said; "I had no idea it was you."

Quinn smiled softly and tucked a streak of blonde hair behind her left ear. "I was pretty good at hiding, wasn't I? Although Santana seemed to think I was painfully obvious. She kept telling me to be happy, that I had Finn and a normal life and I… It just wasn't enough."

I reached out suddenly and touched Quinn's shoulder lightly. Her bare shoulder was warm to the touch. She shuddered softly, as if my touch was electric.

"I just never thought anyone as beautiful as you could like someone like me."

She smiled and shook her head. "People look at me and take me at face value. I'm more than that. I'm a person, you know, and I have flaws."

I laughed and I said, "Like what?"

She held up her hands. "I have man hands."

"What?" I laughed in surprise. "What are man hands?"

"You know," Quinn said a bit abashed, "Big ass hands."

I touched her hands curiously. "Well I like them."

She grinned and said, "Good."

We were growing closer now, and … and…

It started with a kiss.

It seemed right that it would end with one.

When Quinn's lips touched mine, all light, all color, all sound faded from the world.

And there was only Quinn.

There only ever would be Quinn.

There would be no more first kisses for me. That kiss with Quinn was all I ever needed to know, and everything I would ever need to learn.

Life isn't about the journey at all, but the person you share it with. I'd found my partner, and as I pulled her closer, I thought only of her.

It ended with a kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN:** Hope you enjoyed! As always, please leave a review on your way out. The faster you review, and the more you do, the faster these chapters appear. I'll be contacting the couple of people who offered to beta for me soon. Love and rainbows! – boss mare)


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